Saturday, February 28, 2015

Wilderness...

I suppose the advantage of being in a pastorate situation at this time of year rather than in academia means I'm actually spending more of my time reflecting on the season. Don't get me wrong, I haven't ignored Lent for the past three years, but I don't think I've given it quite the due consideration that it requires. It has, unfortunately, taken second place to essay deadlines and looming exams. However, even before heading off to theological college, I can't honestly say that Lent has ever featured heavily within the liturgical years I've cycled through. Maybe it is the tradition that I've grown up in and the liturgical freedom it affords that has allowed me to sail through the 45 days with only a cursory glance. Or maybe I have just been too lazy to look!

This year things are different, Lent is at the forefront of my daily reflections and my weekly worship preparation.

But what angle do I come at Lent from? Do I do the whole self-denial thing? Maybe spend time sitting in sackcloth and ashes doing penitence? Or maybe I should go on a journey it to the wilderness?

Well pastorate life really doesn't allow you to head off at a drop of a hat on some sort Lenten pilgrimage. Nor does it really allow time to sit around in sackcloth and ashes, especially if you don't what people to think that pressure has finally got to you. But it doesn't stop you from wondering and reflecting on what it might mean to head off into the wilderness, just as Jesus did.

As I was driving home from my weekly visit to Cambridge the other day, America's 'A horse with no name' came up on my iPod playlist, and it got me thinking. So often we reflect on the wilderness being a place of loss; when we're not sure which way to go, we saying we're in wilderness times. We think of it as a place of hardship and a time when we wrestle with who we are and what maybe we are being called too. And on reading the story of Jesus' time in the wilderness, or even following the journey of the Israelites through the wilderness, I don't think it is wrong to see the wilderness that way. But what if it was a place of relief too? The chorus to the song 'A horse with no name' goes thus: "I've been through the desert on a horse with no name. It felt good to be out of the rain. In the desert you can remember your name, cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain."

Yes, the wilderness is a place where we struggle, but I also think that it is a place that allows us to remember who we actually are too. Its a place where we can reflect on the world we live, the world that surrounds us without either of those worlds encroaching on us.

If you have a spare 10 minutes, take a look at this video, see that Jesus did not just wrestle in the wilderness, he also to delight in the world around him and remembered who he was!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Xb8-mkSNSg

Friday, February 13, 2015

Waiting...

So one of today's task was to write another pastoral letter for my placement churches, and here it is. Some of the task that have to be done in ministry require a level of honest that puts you in a place of vulnerability - this letter is no exception. These words come from within current experience - and not just from standing waiting for a train! 

Rushing down the steps on to the platform just to see the train slowly pulling away is one of those really infuriating moments in life. Now on the Underground really there should be no need to get frustrated, but people do. I was with a friend the other day when this happened to us, and my friend exclaimed, “Well now we will have to wait 4 minutes for the next train!” In the grand scheme of things, 4 minutes is nothing especially when we apparently spend 653 hours in a lifetime waiting for trains and buses. Yet, when you are waiting, 4 minutes can seem an age. But all the same we must wait.

The Christian calendar seems to me to be made up of periods of waiting. Before Christmas we have Advent, when we wait for the birth of Christ. We are currently in the season of Lent, when we appear to be waiting for the death of Christ. Then from Good Friday to Easter Sunday, we wait for the resurrection of Christ. From then we wait for Pentecost and the coming of the Holy Spirit, and then we appear to wait for the cycle to start again. Christians are known as the people of the Way. Reflecting on how much time we spend waiting, maybe it would be more appropriate to call us the people of the wait! That aside, it is not an unknown wait that we experience though; we do know what lies at the end of each period of waiting. This you would think would make the waiting easier, just as the time ticking down on the platform sign telling you when the next train is due might do. But does it? Or does it make the wait feel even longer?

Psalm 13 starts with the cry, “How long, O Lord?”, and it is a cry that is uttered elsewhere in Scripture (e.g. Psalm 6.3, Psalm 35.17, Habakkuk 1.2 and Revelation 6.10). When we are waiting with the expectation of something, how easy it is to cry out ‘how long?’ And how frustrating it is when the only response we get back is “patience”! Yet, in some sense that is what we have in these periods of waiting in the Christian calendar. They are periods of time that give us the space to reflect and prepare; to be patient before God. If we were to rush from birth to death to resurrection to spirit without pausing and reflecting, would we actually see what each event was and is about?

One of the things I very quickly found after starting my placement was that whenever I cried “how long?” it wasn’t because things were taking too long, it is because things came around too soon. This meant that whenever I missed the train or the bus in the morning and had to wait, I found myself getting frustrated because I felt like I was losing valuable time sat at my computer or in conversation with someone. However, it was not lost time, it has actually been some of my most valuable time—the time when I have been made to stop and wait. That is why the periods of waiting in our yearly cycle, I think, are invaluable. They cause us to stop and think; to reflect on what has been and what is to come. They also cause us to be in the moment.

So take heart! Do not get frustrated by the periods of waiting that come your way, because the times when we have to wait are as valuable and meaningful as the times when we don’t. Remember the last verse of Psalm 27: "Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!"


Tuesday, January 6, 2015

New Year?


I realise I have been a little lax in keeping my blog up-to-date in recent months with my muses. Maybe this is because I don't seem to have time to sit and do much musing these days, or because most of my musing ends up in my sermons. Yet, as I am learning, there are times in ministry where musing is not just needed for the sermon, for there is always the magazine pastoral letter to be written. So here is my reflection on the turning on the year that has recently been published in the church magazines of my pastorate, which appears to have got people talking and even causing one person to re-write the beginning of their sermon the other week (alas not my supervisor's, but I can live in hope that will happen one day)...

With the dawning of a new year there is that sense of a new start. The battered diary of the year past is tucked away, if not thrown in the bin, and our crisp, new one, which this year we are going to keep in better order than before, is opened gently to a pristine blank page. With the dawning of a new year there is the chance to leave the past year behind.

But how many of us actually get to the 1st January before having to open our new diary? How many of us have that joy of putting last year’s diary away? Things have to be planned and organised in advance so the new diary is opened long before January actually arrives and already looks battered and worn out as the new year dawns. Things don’t end and start with the turning of the year, they continue, so last year’s diary needs to stay close at hand just to remind us where we are and what’s been done. That new start with the new year isn’t such a new start anymore, in fact its not really a new start at all, its just another day. The chance to reflect, to start over, to hope with the coming of a new year seems to be lost because ‘life just isn’t like that’. 

The 1st January can just feel like another day, but I don’t think we’ve completely lost sight of the fact that a new year has dawned. We may be a little more prepared for the year that lies ahead than just having a new diary, but there is no less hope to be had; no less dreaming to be done. 

We have just finished the season of Advent, moved through the season of Christmas and are now heading for the season of Epiphany. These three seasons are seasons where as the Church not only do we celebrate new beginnings, but also faithfully look forward with hope. As the magi travelled from the east, the only certainty they had was the star in the sky and all they could do was faithfully following it in the hope it would lead them to the Christ Child. And as the story goes, it does, although they do take a slight detour which has unforeseen repercussions. But the negative of the story shouldn’t overshadow the positive—things may not quite go to plan, but a ‘maybe’ isn’t a good enough reason not to set out on the journey at all; not to have hopes and dreams and work towards them. Anyway, whether we like it or not, new starts happen which make us look forward—the seasons change, years end and start. 

There is that English tradition of the bells of church steeples near and far ringing the old year out and welcoming the new—marking that transition of the year as we watch the clock turn from 11.59pm to 12.00am. In a sonnet for the New Year1, Malcolm Guite, chaplain of Girton College, Cambridge, beautifully used the image of these bells to show the significance the turning of the year:
…As surely, soundly, deeply as these bells
That sound and find and call is all at once.
‘Ears of my ears’ can hear, my body feels
This call to prayer that is itself a dance.
So ring them out in joy and jubilation,
Sound them in sorrow tolling for the lost,
O let then wake the Church and rouse the nation,
A sleeping lion stirred to life at last,
Begin again they sing, again begin…


The dawning of the new year should be the chance for us to begin again, but not in the sense that we forget all that has gone before. The tolling of the bells are to reawaken us to hope; the future hope that entered the world as baby that first Christmas and the hope that has been given to each of us by the man who was hung on a cross and then conquered death that first Easter.

1 Malcolm Guite, 2012. Sounding the Seasons: Seventy Sonnets for the Christian Year. Norwich: Canterbury Press, p.18
 

Monday, September 29, 2014

'Parent in God'?

The titles we give things in organisations can be funny at time. Of course, many are straightforward and describe an individual's job, but other times you have to wonder what whoever came up with title was thinking.

This week my supervisor was talking about the minister he worked under when he was at the same point in his training. But this minister was not my supervisor's supervisor, he was his 'Father in God'! I have to admit, this did make me giggle - not because my supervisor isn't old enough to be my father, because he is - but because it has the sense of one of those titles that gives a strange gravitas. What was the church/college thinking when they came up with this idea?

Now this was 40 years ago, so inclusive language wasn't such a big issue. I guess if we were to reinstate such terminal for our supervisors today, they would now be called 'Parent in God', but I have to say this does not help the title any and does conjure up the image of the Godfather! But although it does seem a slightly ridiculous title, and one that many would find awkward to use today, I suppose I can understand it. This year for me is about learning from someone who has significant experience in ministry and to some extent the relationship that will form is very much like the relationship between a parent and child. My 'parent in God' is here to shown how to do and not to do things; to explain things to me, that I don't understand; to encourage me when I find this tough. And it is not just about my own learning, for as many of the parents I know tell me, they are forever learning from their children.

Now I don't think I will ever refer to my supervisor as my 'father in God' or even my 'parent in God', but I do, on reflection, like the concept especially as I know the guiding hand my supervisor will be over the next nine months.

Wednesday, August 27, 2014

Am I really ready for this?

Today the reality that my final year of training for ministry in the United Reformed Church is about to start hit. Although it has been a week since I moved out of the comfort of Westminster College to a flat which is a very long way up with a view across London, it wasn't until I walked into town to meet a member of one of the congregations I will be working with over the next 9 months, that it really sank in that 'this is it' and all being well 12 months from now I will be gearing up for ordination (if not already ordained)!

Four years, when you start out, seems a long time. It lures you into a false sense of security that by the time the four years is up you'll be ready for anything that life as a minister will throw at you! Well, with only 12 months to go, and just about to embark the part of my training which puts me within a church-setting for most of my week, I can in no way say I'm ready! I think I'm still trying to get over the shock that God thinks I'm the right person for this.

Yet here I am at the start of year four, with the process of finding my first pastorate about to beginning and the start of my internship (or living ministry programme year) a few days away. I don't feel ready for this, but as I learnt this morning, I am ready for this. I may not know how to deal with every situation I might find myself in the next 9 months, let alone the rest of my ministry. I may not know the right words for every encounter I will have and I will definitely get them wrong at times. There is every possibility that I will stumble and even fall flat on my face. But none of that really matters. What matters is that I'm ready to give it go and answer the call God has made on my life.

So although my knees are knocking and I would rather hide away than head out into the big scary world on ministry, bring it on! I am not ready, but that's ok because apparently I am ready! (And once I know what that means I will let you know.)

Sunday, May 4, 2014

Does losing our religion mean losing God?

Now seeing as my degree in theology is nearing completion, you may expect that for a little light reading I would now be picking up a theological journal, a book of sermons or Calvin's Institutes. But no, I have fallen back into old habits of wandering into the local newsagents and picking up a copy of the New Scientist.

This week there is an article by Graham Lawton on "Losing our religion" (New Scientist, 3 May 2014, pp.30-35), in which he asks why this is happening and what the world might look like without religion. It feels slightly out of place within this science weekly, although there is science: the cognitive scientists and their cognitive by-product theory, and meta-analysis of studies looking for links between religion and health. You might expect in such an article for religion to be damned, and an attempt made to disproved the existence of God; yet neither of which is really done. What it does do is state some interesting facts and observations. These include the intuitive nature of religious belief, religious decline accompanies society prosperity and stability, the low likelihood of a child being religious if their parents aren't. It points out how in the aftermath of disaster, there is evidence of resurgence of religion, even in the most secular societies.

So what does this article prove or disprove? It is published in a scientific (well, popular-science) journal after all. I'm not sure it does either. It raises questions, and ones that the church cannot ignore and needs to engage with. Irreligious in society is clearly rising, but society does not seem to have lost is sense of or need for spirituality. There is a still, as Lawton states, a yearning "for a sense of community and a common moral vision". Society might be classing itself as godless, with psychologists and sociologists convinced humanity does not require God for its morality. But is not society informed by its past? Is not morality based on notions and ideas which are religiously-rooted, if not God-rooted? I am not convinced that a society can ever be truly godless, or devoid of anything that does not have connotations of faith or religion. The rise of the 'Sunday Assembly' is possibly proof it this.

So how does the church respond to this? How do you show a society that it is "doing God", when professes that it doesn't "do God"? Maybe the answer lies in what it means to be church! Hmmm...

Sunday, April 6, 2014

Unconscious Breath


This week's sermon based on Ezekiel 37.1-14 and John 11.1-45... 

God asked Ezekiel: “Can these bones live?”[1]
Jesus asked Martha: “Do you believe this?”[2]
Two what would seem impossible questions, especially for two individuals surrounded by the realities of death.
How could Ezekiel answer such a question when for as far as he could see there were no signs of life?
How could Martha answer such a question when what Jesus had just told her was completely contrary to what she was experiencing?
However, both Ezekiel and Martha respond without appearing to give a second thought to what they have just been asked. But their responses differ. Ezekiel, who would appear to have no emotional connection to the bones surrounding him, gave a slightly non-committal, even slightly sarcastic response, “God, only you know that!”[3]. Whilst Martha replied with a definite and positive ‘YES’[4]! It is maybe easier to understand Ezekiel’s response than Martha’s. When faced with the fact that there is nothing to suggest that these bones could ever live again, the logical answer would be ‘no’. However, ‘no’ is not really an answer that you can give when you are in the presence of God. But Martha’s response seems to defy all logic. She professed belief in something that would seem to be untrue in that situation—Lazarus believed in Jesus yet lay dead, his body was enclosed in a tomb with the expectation that it would never see the light of day again! So how could she really believe what Jesus had told her?
 

The clue to her response may be in Jesus’ words: “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die.”[5] Life though you can die, and life in which you never die! Well that is as clear as mud then! Is Jesus saying that we will die or that we will not die? Is Jesus saying that if we believe, we are going to go through life a bit like the character Jaws in the James Bond films? He can fall into shark-infested waters, crash into houses and concrete walls, even be blown up in space, and he still gets up and walks away, maybe brushing of a little dust or shaking his head because he’s slightly dazed. That seems unlikely, although potentially useful. And anyway reality tells, as does the story, that death happens. So what does Jesus mean? Is there another way of thinking about what Jesus is saying that makes Martha’s response clearer? 

Martha, prior to her confession of faith in Jesus, alludes to the idea of the physical resurrection of the body. The miracle Jesus performs in Bethany demonstrates the power God has, as do the events in Ezekiel’s vision—physical death and decay do not hold God back. In addition to this, the raising of Lazarus was also a means by which Jesus could start to explain to the disciples and others what would shortly happen to him—that he too would die, yet rise again. However, as with most words and actions of Jesus, there is always another possible way of interpreting them. Jesus’ statement of being the “resurrection and the life” is about more than just physical resurrection of the body. The concept of life is not just tied to the physical; it is also about the spiritual. 

Now the beginning of Ezekiel’s vision paints a very dramatic, yet lonely picture. A sole figure stood in a desolate and arid landscape with bones being the only things to be seen for mile upon mile. It is a place of lament; there is no hope, no nothing apart from bones. Yet from that disheartening place, God demonstrates hope. God shows that the arid and dead can once again be fruitful and full of life. And Jesus, when he arrived in Bethany, found a place that seemed hope‑less—a place that had a great sense of loss; through which there was a continuous stream of tears. But from those tears came the restoration of life. And yes, what is seen in both stories is physical, but what is behind them is spiritual. Yet what do we mean by spiritual? 

The bones are not proclaimed to be alive until the breath of God enters into them. The bones coming back together did not mean life; sinew, muscles and skin covering the bones did not mean life; it was not until the wind had blown breath into the bones that they lived. And logically that makes sense—whether someone is breathing or not is one of the ways we determine if someone is dead or alive. Breath is essential for life. But here I am talking about the physical again, where I asked the question—“what do we mean by spiritual?”. In this passage from the book of Ezekiel, the keyword in the Hebrew is ruach. It has been translated as breath, but can also mean wind or spirit. The fact that this word has a tri-meaning has allowed authors and editors throughout the Old Testament to express what it means to be the recipient of the Holy Spirit and to live in and with God. The idea is even there in the creation story—God breathing the life-giving breath, the life-giving ruach, in to the nostrils of Adam[6]. The imagery that is created through the idea of breath being more than just the physical act of taking in air, I think, is a really helpful image when thinking about what it means to live in and with God through the Holy Spirit. The way in which the Holy Spirit is referred to through this idea shows it to be a life force; something that enables life in all its fullness. It is also something that dwells within us and is part of us; something we don’t really have to think about. Normally, how many of us actually consciously think about taking each breath? Ok, so now I’ve mention it we are all thinking about how we breathe, but ‘normally’ we don’t; our bodies just get on with breathing! God has breathed the Holy Spirit into us, it is there within us—we breathe it in and breathe it out. However, this unconscious nature of the Spirit within us can have its disadvantages. 

When Jesus arrived in Bethany, both Martha and Mary met him with the same accusatory statement: “If you had been here, Lord, my brother would not have died!”[7] As physically true as this statement potentially is, there is a level of untruth within it. Yes, we can read the story of Lazarus for what it is—the physical demonstration of the restoration of life that can be miraculously given by Jesus, because death has no power over him. But the conversation between Jesus and Martha shows us that there is another level to this story: what it means to be alive in and through the Spirit; to know the presence and have a relationship with Jesus Christ through the Spirit. 

The Holy Spirit is the member of the Trinity for whom I think it is most difficult to define in terms of who they are and what they do. Scripture is full of different imagery for the Spirit and its presence is observed in different contexts and forms. Where we can easily personalise Father and Son, or Creator and Christ; this is harder to do with the Spirit. The Spirit is clearly multifaceted—it has different roles and interacts in different ways with the different members of the Trinity, which is further complicated by how the Father and Son elements of the Trinity seem to also be able to give the Spirit as a gift to humanity. It is there at the forefront and also there in the background. And it is the background nature of the Spirit that we easily miss or forget about. 

How easy is it for us to cry out to God, “if only”? “If only you had been there such and such wouldn’t have happened!” “If only you were here, life would be simpler, easier”. We can very easily decry God’s presence when things are tough. If life feels stale even dead, then we declare the absence of the Spirit. But when we do this or we hear this, is it followed by a statement of unbelief in Christ, and his ability to work in and through us? Yes the Spirit can and does work directly in and on us, but in the background the Spirit is also making God known to us. It is nurturing and sustaining us, even when a life that is faith-full, feels almost faith-less. We do not have the luxury to be physically in the presence of Jesus as the disciples, Martha, Mary and Lazarus had. But the Spirit is the one who makes Jesus Christ present for us today in our lives. It is through the Spirit that our relationship with the one God comes into being. It is through the Spirit that we are brought into and maintained within that spiritual life which is of and with God. Although the Spirit can be a rushing wind or tongues of fire, it is also the unconscious breath that is essential for life in and with God. Physical death happens: fact. Spiritual death, though, I don’t think does. In Jesus’ profession of being the resurrection and the life, he is saying that the one who believes and so is alive spiritually will never die spiritually. Our spiritual life may waver and may even become dormant, but the Spirit is still there working in the background, being that unconscious breath. 

We are in the season of Lent, a time that has a sense of desolation, aridness, even lament, for at the end of it lies death. But death isn’t the end of the story. We don’t get to Good Friday and say ‘that’s all folks’! There is Easter day—the physical revelation of Jesus being the resurrection and the life. And always through these Lenten days including Holy Week is the breath of God, breathing in and through the days and hours, quietly in the background. The Spirit is there in the story, moving and working, quietly making known what needs to be known. 

God asked Ezekiel, “can these bones live?” Ezekiel turned the answer back on God’s knowledge. But what if God were to place us in that valley of dry bones and asked us that question, what would your response be as a gentle breeze blows across the bones? 

Amen





[1] Ezekiel 37.3, NRSV

[2] John 11.26, NRSV & GNB

[3] Ezekiel 37.3, GNB

[4] John 11.27, GNB

[5] John 11.25b-26a, GNB

[6] Genesis 2.7b


[7] John 11.21, 32, GNB